Based on the ghost!Anna suggestion on the Elsannafervor Tubmlr. It has such great potential so I couldn't help but write it.

-yurImperial

: : Prologue : :

Being a ghost isn't all bad. Don't believe me?

I don't need to eat or sleep (duh).

I don't have any chores (one of the benefits of being stuck in this plane; no ghost parents).

I can appear wherever I want (even though I can't be away from the cemetery for too long).

I can make myself visible or invisible to the living at will (who wouldn't enjoy invisibility?).

I can phase though solid objects (another fun ability).

So yeah, it's not the worst thing in the world. Even preferable to some things, like suffering a concussion in a head-on collision and waiting for the blood to pool in your skull as you lie helpless on a dark street. By comparison, being dead is actually quite pleasant. I can daydream all I want and I don't have any obligations; no more Anna, do your chores, Anna, don't stay out late, Anna, don't eat sweets before dinner.

And well, of course there are some things that I miss. Like eating chocolate. I may not need to eat anymore, but it was certainly an enjoyable necessity on occasion. These days I mostly spend my daydreams reminiscing about sweets.

That's another thing: time. I have all the time in the world, but not much to occupy it. Aside from the aforementioned daydreaming, there's really very little I can do, considering my particular curfew. You see, as a ghost, I'm bound to the cemetery where my remains reside; I can only leave on nights of the full moon or when enough spiritual energy has built up.

But more than anything, I miss my friends and family. It's rather lonely here in the cemetery, as I'm sure you understand. There is one other ghost - a little boy - but all he does is cry and that's no fun. Oh sure, living people stop by to visit their loved ones once in a blue moon, but showing myself to them more often leads to panic than conversation, so eventually I gave up trying. Romance, of course, is completely out of the question, a notion that can only exist in my daydreams.

Man, being a ghost really sucks.

: : Chapter 1 : :

"Where did you say this cemetery was?" I ask apprehensively as Kristoff's jeep turns onto Highway 95. Beside the stop sign is another sign reading: "WARNING: Blind curves - approach with caution." True to its word, a car appears suddenly out of the darkness as if passing through a black curtain just twenty feet from where we idle at the intersection. The glare of its headlights spears through the darkness and races around the next bend at sixty miles per hour. As I listen to the screeching of brakes trailing after it, I can't help but imagine a tortured spectre shrieking its soul's agony into the night, here and gone so fast that we mistake it for just another car.

"Not much farther, Els." Kristoff says without looking at me. His eyes are still searching the darkness, cautious for oncoming danger before pulling out onto the dark road.

"Don't tell me you're scared of a stupid highway," Hans scoffs from the left-most back seat. When I glance at him in the rear-view mirror, his arms are crossed over his chest in contempt and a scowl is planted firmly on his face. I don't know why he came with us tonight; he's made his point clear that he has no superstitions. Not that skepticism is a bad thing. I didn't believe in ghosts either, until I talked to my grandpa at his funeral when I was six.

A hand comes up next to my seat and rests reassuringly on my shoulder, bringing a pleased smile to my face.

"With good reason, all things considered," Rapunzel says from behind me, coming to my rescue. "Given the track record, I wouldn't come this way unless my life depended on it."

Highway 95 is infamous. To this date, there have been nearly twenty deaths from motor accidents on its treacherous breakneck curves, my mother being just one of the casualties. I can actually feel the weight of death dragging at my senses here, like the numbing cold of winter. I'm afraid to look out the passenger window for fear of seeing dead faces flash by, afraid of seeing their features twisted in pain and pale as moonlight. I don't fear them any more than one fears visiting a loved one in the hospital; the ones who suffered in death are usually the most painful to encounter.

"You okay, Elsa?"

I look up at Kristoff and meet his eyes for a moment before he turns them back to the road. A frown crinkles in the lines around his eyes, though his lips are pressed tight in concentration as he drives. It's his I-know-you-can-handle-this-but-tell me-if-something-isn't-okay face. I've been seeing it for over a decade; I wouldn't miss it, now or any other time.

"Yeah." I stretch the word out into a long sigh, almost wincing at how unsure it sounds. "The sooner we get off of the highway, the better."

We fall into quiet anticipation for the next few minutes, until Eugene speaks up. In all this time, not a single car passes us.

"So what's the story about this particular ghost?"

"There have been rumors of people hearing the sound of someone crying near a cemetery on the outskirts of Minton," Kristoff says, casting an proud glance at me. "That's where our resident Ghost Whisperer here comes in."

Eugene's face lights up in excitement while I turn red in embarrassment.

"You mean you're going to exorcise it?"

Hans grunts and rolls his eyes, which I ignore.

"Not exactly. When a spirit is unable to pass on, it's because of regret, un-finished business, or an unresolved conflict. Since I can see ghosts better than most people, I can sometimes talk them into passing on. It really depends on the personality, though."

Eugene is practically bouncing with excitement. This is his first time on a "ghost hunt" with us; he lives out-of-state and is visiting Rapunzel for the weekend. She told him all about our adventures and he couldn't be happier for the chance to join us. In stark contrast is Hans, who looks like he wants to be anywhere but here.

Oh well, too late now.

When a black iron gate rises up ahead of us, Kristoff decelerates and flicks his turn signal on. Hanging above the gate between two tall posts is a wooden sign. I have to crane my head back to read it as we pass beneath.

-Old Minton Cemetery-

Kristoff parks a respectful distance from the first line of gravestones and gets out first to rummage for a lanterning in the back of the jeep. Eugene and Rapunzel talk excitedly, their voices low.

"So, are you nervous, Elsa?"

The voice emanates from the darkness just behind my left ear and I imagine the speaker leaning up over the console to whisper to me. Though I can't see, I'm able to identify Eugene's earnest voice.

"Not really. Despite what the movies would have you think, spirits are rather harmless. But my job becomes a lot harder if they are unable to understand that I'm trying to help them, or they simply refuse to listen. There's nothing I can do at that point."

My grandpa had been a hard one for me to reason with. He was as stubborn in death as he was in life, and as surprising and frightening as it had been to see his ghost when I was only six, I sat with him through almost the entire funeral ceremony. Of course, when they found me, the adults thought the stress of the funeral had gotten to me. What else would they think when they saw me talking to an invisible entity? But my mother could see him. That was when we discovered that we shared an entire world most can't see, and we grew much closer as a result.

"You really care about these poor lost souls, don't you?" Eugene's voice pulls me out of the memory, but before I can respond, light flares to life behind the jeep. Kristoff comes around with the lit lantern and motions for us to join him. When we're all gathered around the globe of light, Rapunzel's voice breaks the stillness in a respectful whisper.

"Ok, the plan is to search for the ghost. If we find it, the rest of us comeback to the jeep and wait while Elsa talks to it alone. Do you have your flashlight?"

I hold up the tool clutched to my chest, a heavy thing of metal and giant batteries that rivals the lantern in power.

"Aw, we can't watch?" Eugene's face falls in disappointment.

"Sorry, we risk overwhelming the spirit if too many people approach. One person is a lot easier to open up to than five."

"Hmph, then what was the point in any of us coming if we won't even see one of your so-called ghosts?" Hans accuses.

"Oh, you'll see one alright." Without waiting for his response, I turn and stride into the cemetery, Kristoff right on my heels and the others close behind.

We spend the next twenty minutes combing the rows and rows of gravestones for any sign of activity. I definitely feel a strong presence, but it seems as if it's hiding itself. We march on in solemn silence, staying just within the reach of the lantern's light. Twigs, leaves, and dry grass crunch beneath our feet like bones; I wonder how long it's been since these grounds were tended? Perhaps the spirit that people have been hearing kept the grounds keepers away?

"This is getting ridiculous. Are we just gonna walk all-"

Before Hans can finish his thought, a sharp wail splits the night, making us all jump. Kristoff swings the lantern around, casting dancing shadows across every surface. Hans goes silent, his complaint instantly forgotten. Rapunzel reaches for Eugene's hand and they wind their fingers together, shoulders brushing.

The more I listen, the more my heart is filled with an inexplicable feeling of... helplessness? I reminds me of the time I got lost on our middle school field trip to the zoo. We were going to see the monkeys but I wanted to see the penguins, so I slipped away on my own to find them. I felt completely lost and helpless among the crowd until one of the teachers found me. I know this feeling must be important now, so I allow it to guide me like a tether attached to my heart.

The feeling grows along with the wailing as we approach the far corner of the cemetery. A chill passes through the group, but I barely notice it through the tightening of my chest. Rapunzel calls out, pointing, and the group erupts into chatter.

"Look!"

"It sounds like a little boy-"

"Is that a light?"

"Where is it?"

"Guys!"

Everyone falls silent at my outburst. The wailing subsides for a moment and I fear that we scared the spirit away, but it resumes sobbing. I continue in a softer voice.

"We have to stay quiet. Think of it as a frightened deer."

Despite my warning, a collective gasp goes up when the spirit comes into view.

"It is a little boy," Rapunzel whispers sadly. She tightens her grip on Eugene's arm.

Indeed, the spirit sitting behind its own gravestone has the appearance of a boy no more than five years old. He has a light-blue aura that shimmers like a soft light seen through water, turning his features watery and indistinct. He sits with his back against the stone, curled in on himself as he cries into his knees.

I wish I could feel smug about Hans' expression as his contempt melts away, but now my only concern is the spirit of the little boy. Kristoff's big hand falls on my shoulder and I look up into my friend's comforting eyes.

"It's all you, Els. We'll be waiting. Call us if you need anything."

I nod and watch the group pick their way back through the cemetery until I can no longer discern their silhouettes within the lantern's glow. The feeling of loneliness tugs me back to the cooler ethereal light of the spirit. I open myself up to the emotion so I can better understand the little boy, making myself vulnerable enough to share what he's feeling.

My breath is now a white mist every time I exhale. I dig my fingertips into the cuffs of my sweater and curl them around my knuckles for warmth. This type of temperature change is a reaction to stress and is often a reason spirits are accidentally located by the living. I always wear my faded jeans and ice-blue sweater when we go on these ghost hunts for the protection they provide from the cold. Kristoff likes to refer to them as my "Ghost Hunter Gear."

I manage to come within a few feet of the spirit before he notices me. He looks up at me with confused, watery eyes and my heart nearly breaks in two.

"Hey there," I softly coo at him as I kneel down a respectful distance away. Getting closer to his height should make me less frightening than standing and towering over him, and while his wailing does subside for the moment, he still sobs and sniffles. If I peer closely through the aura of spiritual energy surrounding him, I can just make out the glassy teardrops wobbling down his cheeks. There's something hauntingly beautiful about the crystalline transparency of a spirit's appearance; I never understood how people came to be frightened by them.

"That's it, don't cry."

I continue shushing the boy with gentle placations until he only whimpers. I take this opportunity to shuffle closer bit by bit until I'm seated just two feet away form him.

"Don't worry, I just want to help. Are you lost?"

That was a bad thing to say. As if reminding him of why he was crying in the first place, his lower lip starts to quiver and his brows knit together. I hurriedly attempt to staunch the next outburst before it starts.

"Well I'm lost, too. It's not so bad if we're lost together, is it?"

His expression doesn't change for the better, but he doesn't start crying again either; my cue to keep going.

"Will you be my Lost Buddy?"

I throw in my nicest smile, the one I developed during my childhood to prize extra treats from my parents after dinner and repeat bedtime stories. If my other spirit encounters were anything to go by, I'd say I've perfect the technique. It's no less effective on this little boy, as he stares at me suspiciously for a moment before cautiously nodding.

"If we're gonna be Lost Buddies, we should know each other's names, right?"

Another nod.

"Mine's Elsa. What's yours?"

"Elsa?" His voice is meek and barely audible, but a verbal response is a great sign indeed.

"Yup! Want to tell me yours?"

He looks down at his knees for a long moment.

"Not supposed... talk to strangers..."

"But we're not strangers anymore. We're Lost buddies, aren't we?"

He hesitates before nodding again. When his lips for the shape of his name, it's much more confident and, dare I say, cheerful?

"Olaf."

I repeat his name back to him, just as he did to me.

"That's a cute name, you know that? I bet your parents adore it."

Out of nowhere, Olaf starts bawling again. He buries his face in his knees, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably. My eyes widen at the unexpected shift in attitude.

"No no no, don't cry, sweety. What's wrong?"

What did I say? What did I do to trigger him?

Then the emotion pouring into me from Olaf suddenly has a different name. Abandonment. I still don't know his story, but a rough picture is starting to form in my mind. I might as well start feeling around in the dark for more information.

"Do you miss your parents, Olaf?"

Without looking at me or even ceasing his crying, he nods his head into his knees. Tiny hands come up to fist in his hair and the intensity if his wailing reaches painful heights. They pierce my eardrums and I'm certain that Kristoff and the others can hear it from the jeep. Hopefully they don't come back to see what's going on. Olaf's in no state to be surrounded.

"I'm sure they're looking for you," I tell him softly, but he shakes his head vigorously and looks up at me. His aura is too blurry now to make out his features very clearly, like trying to see though a windshield obscured by pounding rain.

"They left me... I've been gone so long... they're not coming... I'm sorry... Mommy... I shouldn't have... run away..."

My hand flies to my chest as the pieces slowly come together. It sounds like Olaf got separated from his parents, similar to the time I got lost at the zoo... but unfortunately, he was never returned safely. He's been waiting here as a spirit ever since. He might have even ran to them at the funeral and assumed they were ignoring him when they simply couldn't see him. Spirits are very weak soon after death and can't project themselves to the living until they accumulate enough spirit energy. Being a Medium, I can see them no matter what.

Unsure of what to say or how to even get though Olaf's deafening voice, I pull out my heavy-duty flash light and lean it on a rock pointing at the face of a large gravestone before us. It creates a large circle of illumination, or as I plan to treat it, a stage. Without a word, I hold my hands up back-to-back in the beam. I extend an index and middle finger toward me to imitate long, floppy ears and form a ball with the other hand for a small body and head. I then bounce them through the air and the shadow hops like a bunny across the circle of light. Curious, Olaf looks up without missing a beat in his screeching.

Now that I have his attention, my confidence grows. I hook my thumbs together and fan my other fingers out to the sides, folding and un-furling them to simulate the flapping of wings. Olaf is still crying, but it's no longer deafening. My hands quickly morph into another shape, one hand curled on top of the other, the lower knuckles pointed forward and jutting out slightly more toward the bottom like a chin. I extend one finger to complete the face seen in profile with a comically long nose. This shifts into another image as I move my right hand upside-down on top of my left, both pairs of pointer and middle fingers extended forward, and move the lower pair down and up while making quacking sounds.

The crying drops away altogether and I hear what sounds like a cross between a laugh and a hiccup next to me. Time to seal the deal. Making a great show of the motion, I wave my whole right arm into the beam of the flashlight. My fingers curl down toward my forearm while my the back of my hand pulls back to my shoulder. My left hand fans out behind the crook of my elbow, completing the shadow-image of a regal swan. For added effect, I twist my right hand back to my splayed fingers and simulate preening.

When I finally look over at Olaf, he's watching my shadow puppet display too intently to even sniffle. Fearing that stopping will shatter the calm, I go back to the bird in flight and flap it around while speaking.

"Olaf, you're much too sweet for your parents to leave you behind. Sometimes parents aren't very good at being parents, but that doesn't mean they don't love you. I'm sure they miss you very much and want nothing more than for you to be happy and safe."

When my words are met with silence, I continue. My bird shapeshifts back into a rabbit.

"You don't want them to worry, do you? Isn't that why you're upset?"

Olaf nods, his lower lip quivering again.

"I didn't mean... run away... didn't mean... make Mommy and Daddy sad..."

"Can you be a big boy for me, Olaf? For your mommy and daddy?"

Olaf nods again, more energetically.

"Can you smile for me?"

The shimmering quality of his aura dissipates as easily as rainclouds in the sun. His head whips up and down, a bright grin breaking across his face. His features are crystal clear and I'm struck by how precious he is, by the cruelty of his untimely death. The longer I look upon him, the brighter he glows until his skin is as transparent as glass.

"That's my Lost Buddy."

He gets up and runs at me, arms outstretched like he wants to give me a hug. Startled, I open my arms to receive him even as he disappears in a flash of light against my chest. A cold wind gusts through my body, sending ice through my veins and blowing my mind clear of everything but an acute childlike joy. For that moment, I feel as if I could sail though the wind with Olaf and flutter high over the countryside, free of earthly attachment. It only lasts for a moment, and then I'm kneeling alone in a dark cemetery as a chill autumn breeze whips my hair into my face.

I sit for a long moment in quiet contemplation until I feel eyes upon me. Looking around, I see a bubble of warm light bouncing towards me and rise to meet the group half-way.

"Is it done?" Kristoff asks as soon as I enter the light. I'm already starting to feel warmer.

"Yes, he's passed on."

I take the following silence as a request for more details and notice that Hans is the only one absent. He must have stayed at the jeep when the others came running.

"Let's head back; I'll fill you in on the way home."

Kristoff, and surprisingly Hans, listen quietly as I explain Olaf's story on the drive back. Rapunzel clucks in sympathy for the boy while Eugene enthusiastically prods me for further details. Hans stares out his window the entire way, not a word of skepticism passing his lips.

At some point I, too, fall silent and stare at the dark scenery moving by outside. No matter how many times I told myself that Olaf was at peace, I couldn't shake the feeling of eyes on me even as we left. I figured it was just Kristoff and the others at first, but then I felt it again near the gates as we passed under the Old Minton Cemetery sign and turned onto Highway 95. Just before falling asleep slumped against the passenger door, I resolve to return tomorrow and check to make sure I completed the job. Poor Olaf deserves peace.

In my dreams on the ride home, I'm sitting on a hill with two people, a little boy and a girl about my age. I can see Olaf as clear as day on my left, but the girl is silhouetted against the setting sun, a golden corona haloing her figure. Despite the warmth of the dream, I shiver in my seat.